


and everything was perfect

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [92]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, F/F, F/M, Fan Offpsring, Illustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 20:59:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: Terezi Pyrope is convinced that everything is fine. She has a secure job, a loving family, and nothing else is troubling her. Everything is perfect now that she's an adult and nothing will ever hurt. Takes place after 'these young children'.





	1. scourging the earth

**Author's Note:**

> Let's give a special thanks to Amy for helping beta reader this chapter. It was terrifying. :,D

**== >Be Terezi six months into the past **

Seasons are hard to tell apart in an office with controlled temperature, muffled sounds, and muted scents. The few decorations are non-denominational and bland; unable to offend anyone with how they say nothing. They may as well put up blank sheets of paper for the Winter Holiday season. Everything is dulled to fit the perfect work environment; not sterile but not particularly fecund. _Stale_ would be a better fitting word.

Not that you’re complaining. It beats dealing with the overexposure of a chaotic work environment like the sports bar that’s close to being finished or the dance club Cronus is at every night. Still, it leaves a lot to be desired for your kind of ‘vision’ in the loosest sense of the English word.

Your desk is in the front office, hidden behind the first door that takes you out of the lobby. You’re the first and last thing the employees on this floor see. You make conversation, take orders, and watch them sign in and out for work, lunch, and off-site meetings. When you’re watching, you’re at the computer with a mountain of paperwork—transferring notes from legalese chicken scratch to legible language for the folks that deliver the coffee, the tea, the sugar, the printer paper, the bagels, and the mundane little things that add up to an office.

They were all so skeptical about having a blind troll do the administrative work, though they won’t say it. They don’t know you can smell their emotions; their skepticism and wondering what gimmick or state protocol required them to hire someone with your disability. You worked especially hard to shut them up right there and show them your senses were just as good as theirs.

The skepticism never went away though. Not like you care. This is only a job and sometimes it is better to let them be assured with how blind you are. It can give them comfort to let their guard down around you and it always helps.

A white carapace comes down the hall leading to the break room and elevator. He’s one of the many skeptics but you don’t care about it. Seriously. You _think_ the name is Slighted Painter but you could be confusing them with Erudite Varlot or Naïve Chevalier. It’s easy to get them mixed up because the carapaces rarely come to the ground floor unless they’re getting lunch at the café right outside the door.

“Terezi! How’s the holidays treating you?” SP (you think) chuckles. “Got any plans? I know I’m looking forward to Winter Holiday dinner. My dam-in-law makes a mean brisket. Almost makes putting up with her worth it.”

Water cooler talk. They want something from you.

“The celebrations might be delayed. My son is pupating.” You say, matching the conversation’s tone. “My matesprit’s a nervous wreck. I think this year it’ll be pizza and holiday specials.”

“Just as good in my book. Had to do that circuit plenty of times when wifey was expecting.” SP chuckles. “Say, my printer is jammed something fierce and you know me: all thumbs when it comes to tech. Also, could you send the printed memos up to Farren? I’d do it but I got a double meeting with clients. You wouldn’t _believe_ the crazy stuff that happens around this time of year.” They lower their voice, “Hint: it involves Black Friday.”

You’re not surprised at all. Since Black Friday and the start of the Winter Holiday season, the office is constantly busy with overtime due to personal injury lawsuits. Low priority cases get bumped down to the in-training, freshly graduated litigators while top brass are busy with issues of business and malpractice (another feature of the holiday season since the best doctors are on vacation).

You nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Alright! My office is Number 43!” SP says.

SP places the key on the desk counter and then is out the door. You doubt they’ll be back as they seemed incredibly impatient to get out the door. You’re used to the ‘meeting with client’ excuse as a way to take off early, when they’re really getting some last minute shopping in.

Not that it’s _your_ concern.

You put the ‘Away’ sign on the desk counter and grab your cane. The cane is an embarrassment but a necessity in an often chaotic office. You’ve almost been knocked over twice by not hearing an intern on a coffee run or in a hurry to shuffle papers to the top floor. Sometimes the office air is so dry and everything so muted that you _can’t_ rely on your nose, unless you want to risk constant nosebleeds. Being regulated just to sound and taste is nerve-wracking in its own way.

Just another thing to put up with. You make your way to the elevator, nonetheless.

SP’s office is on the second floor, hidden in a maze of small offices you call Carapacetown. You never come up here since the level has its own administrative assistant, but (upon looking at their desk) they’re _also_ out. In fact, the entire floor is empty save for an ancient black carapace you think is retiring this year.

You locate SP’s office and see the name on the door is actually Supercilious Pupil.

Whatever. Carapaces are weird.

You unlock the door and enter what is essentially a glorified cubicle with a door and sturdier walls. It’s decorated in the tackiest fashion Dollar Stores can buy: motivational posters, collapsible storage container, and three-ring binders. You feel bad for any client that has to meet in this cheesy room of false concern.

The walk around the desk cluttered with papers and folders, approaching the printer next to the computer. A quick look at the monitor confirms your suspicions that the idiot was queuing too many print jobs and the paper jammed.

Just like a personal injury lawyer to try and rush through everything.

You remove ink smudged paper from the printer’s guts and let it run through a cleaning and then a test. Judging by the light blue smears on the paper, the printer may need new cyan ink. You make a note to add it to the weekly order of ink.

You put the rescued papers on the already crowded desk and sit in the chair, beginning the long task of sorting through them. You toss what’s too badly crumpled or covered in only smears. You look at the memo text, checking the legibility due to ink quality. You sort your way through the pile until you get to the bottom. Usually you don’t pay much attention to what’s written—glancing over things with a secretary’s eye for presentation and legibility--when something catches your eye.

 

**To: Barrat**

**From: Pupil**

**Date: December 17, 2130**

**Subject: DynamiCHEM settlement**

**We have confirmation from DynamiCHEM’s head litigators Jocose Deserter and Hecuba Trolus that they are willing to settle for a $100 million via private arbitration.**

 

The memo’s ink quality is flawless and the paper not crinkled, meaning this was printed first.

You check the door with your nose and ears: no one’s coming or walking the halls. There’s an hour left to the work day but most people have cleared out with their checks. Thursday is the best time to go shopping at a peak season like this, especially when most people are still at work.

Feeling more secure, you check the memo again. You haven’t heard a word of DynamiCHEM settling, but your interference in the case has been hands off. The upstairs crew is handling everything now. No matter how passionate you are about the law, you don’t have the legal prowess to deal with this.

You’d been told months ago that the process was stalled due to ‘lack of evidence’. Was that just a bone the litigators tossed at you so you’d sign the non-disclosure agreement? Instead of cursing your past stupidity, you do some mental number crunching.

100 million boons sounds like a lot, but then you divide it amongst everyone DynamiCHEM fucked over. You had looked up settlement estimations of similar cases and they typically were in the 400 to 500 million range—enough to bankrupt most companies. 100 million isn’t much of a dent in DynamiCHEM’s pocket.

You restart the print job, printing out the papers destroyed by the paper jam. You keep the queue short to prevent jams and grab the first memo that comes out.

 

**To: Pupil**

**From: Barrat**

**Date: December 17, 2130**

**Subject: DynamiCHEM settlement**

**$100 million is not enough to cover our fees. Its $300-400 or this goes public. That way we can have $130.**

 

You hear footsteps. Four feet away. They’re plodding and heavy so it has to be the ancient carapace. You keep still as they pass by and don’t return to the memos until they’re down the hall.

You should be glad BF&W is arguing for 300 million, but there are other issues. Your heart is pounding but you can’t flip out. Not right now. You take a deep breath and go through the motions. _Handle this rationally_ , you tell yourself. It’s the same thing your grandmother would say when you were overloaded with sensations—too much noise, smell, and taste and your brain used to shut down. Now you know better.

You go through the motions, picking apart everything that is wrong with this picture.

One: 130 million for services? That’s well over the standard fee of forty percent. You know from BF&W’s past publicized cases that they don’t usually go above thirty. It’s part of the reason why you didn’t mind them handling the case and not just because of their association with your grandmother.

Two: The case _isn’t_ at a standstill. The litigators are still processing and things are proceeding smoothly, or they wouldn’t be bothering using SP as the go-between when they weren’t at business lunches or chasing ambulances.

Three: Why choose SP as a go-between and not one of the many troll litigators on the ground floor? Going by the name “Jocose Deserter”, DynamiCHEM had a carapace _and_ troll as their go-between.  Had DynamiCHEM specified who they would work with, or that this been a personal choice on BF&W’s part?

There are too many unknown factors for you to make a proper conclusion about any of this. You’re frustrated, but you can’t show it right now. You put on your mask and gather the freshly printed memos in an organized pile. You find an empty manila folder on the desk and place them inside. Then you leave the office, locking the door behind you.

The elevator ride to the fourth floor allows you to think. You draw up another possibility.

Four: Why did SP let you see this? This is a confidential memo and letting you see it could put the case in jeopardy. Did they purposely want you to see it?

The possibility is there but then you disregard it. Few people in the office know you outside of ‘that teal’ or ‘the blind troll’. Most know about your grandmother’s association with BF&W and if not, they’ll comment about how you look like the old troll in all the company’s old promotional materials they still roll out at all the colleges. You doubt SP can tell you apart from any of the other trolls and believes you were hired as goodwill to the local community. The relation to your grandmother is just an added benefit.

Conclusion: You’ve been lied to by people you trust. Honestly, you shouldn’t be surprised. They’re lawyers after all. You expected a little deception but it’s…

It is…

Skip it. It’s not worth focusing on. It’s not worth getting…upset…about. There’s no _point_. They’re lawyers after all. You have to figure out what your options are and you don’t have to think long to know that they’re few and far between. You read the non-disclosure agreement and going to the press could land with a hefty fine, let alone put your job and work environment in jeopardy.

You get off the elevator, breathing in the musk that pervades the fourth floor: real plants of local flowers and grasses, floor polish, and high-priced cologne. There are few shadows because most of the walls are eighty-percent window, showing downtown traffic. Through the window you can smell the colors of various cars being bumper to bumper as people pour out of the area in direction of the stores with the best deals.

Its quiet. No interns bustling to water the plants or third floor yes men on the hunt for the next person to cater to. Just like the second floor, the first floor people have taken off early. You walk to the back of the office and knock at the heavy wood door.

“Come in.” says Ms. Barrat, from the other side.

You open the door. The human woman sits behind her large desk, eyes focused on the monitor. Barrat’s office is decorated to fit her personality: degrees and awards on the walls, pictures of past employees of note, politicians, and the single photo of your grandmother and her. It’s the only picture you’ve seen of her in the building. It’s of your grandmother and the old BF&W heads at a gala, wearing formal clothes and smiling into the camera. The smell of it is eerie, reminding you of something seen in the background of a Seventh Age horror movie.

Then again, the entire office troubles you for reasons you can’t truly comprehend. Perhaps it’s something to chalk up to the part of your brain that’s truly ‘alien’—the part that absorbs smells, sounds, and tastes and transfers them into images; a process that you don’t completely understand but you’re not particularly scientific.

“I don’t usually see you up here.” Barrat says, not looking from the monitor.

You place the memos on the desk. “I needed to stretch my legs.”

Barrat takes off her glasses, wiping them. “And you want to know about the case.”

“That’s always on my mind, but I’d rather not bother you about it. Cases like this are always slow.” you say, casually. Lawyers are like Serket: be too upfront with what you want and they clam up or just string you along.

“It _is_ a difficult situation.” Barrat admits, “Our biggest hurdle is DynamiCHEM holding onto information. I would bet the family jewels they’re using this time to dump records, or that’s what a smart company would do.”

The glasses go back on her face and you can smell her debating.

“There _is_ something you can do though.” Barrat says, “It requires legwork but I think you’ll be glad to be out of the office. You’ll be paid for your mileage; within reason of course.”

You doubt this is ‘helping’. If BF&W are offering to pay for mileage, a privilege only offered to people taking road trips to Midway or somewhere remote like Orangeville. You just wonder why Barrat is ‘suggesting’ thing in a tone that tells you this is no suggestion if you want to keep working here in your comfortable environment. Is this out of guilt or because she wants you out of the way while the firm makes backdoor deals with DynamiCHEM’s litigator cabal?

“What is it?” you ask, refusing to show any anxiety about the choice you have no impact in.

“We want to speak to the current employees at N&M. As someone who has a personal investment in this lawsuit, you put a face to the situation. We believe it will be easier for you to interact with them and retrieve information.”

It’s mindless busy work, no different from ordering coffee for the office and making sure people get their specific brands of Starboons and Dunkin Donuts. The people that work at N&M are desperate and cling to their jobs even harder than the office workers. Even if you can find an office worker jaded enough to help you, you doubt they’ll do it without a lack of cost. That and you’re putting yourself on the front lines of the battle. DynamiCHEM will have someone to blame for their current issues and someone to threaten if they feel need to.

“It sounds like a good idea, but wouldn’t that be violating the non-disclosure agreement?”

“It won’t be, as you won’t be speaking to the press but people who are involved in the situation by proxy in working for N&M. Either way, we won’t consider it a violation as long as this stays within N&M.”

Barrat’s face is blank but you can smell the hidden guile, which is something sour and leaves an acidic taste in the air. There are no other witnesses in this room, meaning that if it suits BF&W, they can claim you were violating the non-disclosure agreement.

“Sounds like fun,” you say, “but may I have that in writing? I’m sure the N&M people will ask about it as well.”

Barrat nods. Her disappointment is obvious to your nose. “Alright, I’ll have my secretary draw it up for you to sign on Monday.”

Yet another document you’ll have to look over early Monday morning. Looks like you’ll have to chug more coffee to be especially alert that day.

“Sounds great. I’ll be glad to get out the office.” You say, “Before I leave, can I ask you a question?”

Barrat nods. “Of course.”

You look at Barrat’s face, really look and study it. The woman never has polite smiles for anyone, even when it comes to barely polite conversations like this. She shows her age in the typical human fashion with lines around the mouth and forehead, the skin loosening around the jowls and the grey in her hair. There’s little reason for her to keep working instead of retiring to an arcology floating off the coast of a third world country.

“How did you meet my grandmother?” you ask.

Barrat sits back in her chair. “I honestly thought that would be the first thing you would ask me when we met.” You shrug and she continues, “I met your grandmother at a civil rights conference. She was just another troll, but she was obviously foreign and there to learn.”

It wouldn’t be hard to notice a large, dark skinned troll with an Old Alternian accent. She would be a living fossil in a modern city.

“I was curious about why she was here. Older trolls don’t tend to take part in civil issues that mostly involve human and carapaces. I met her afterward and although her English wasn’t great, she told me she wanted to learn more about her environment and how modern trolls lived. She said that despite all the troubles, she was happy to have seen things progress this far, especially for warmbloods. I was still at a different firm but we built this together. You know…”

Barrat’s eyes go to the single picture of your grandmother and her on the wall.

“I always said ‘Savari, your name should be on here too’, but she always turned it down. She said she didn’t want her descendants to feel like they had to live up to her name.” She inhales and slowly exhales. “I was so surprised when she died. Tealbloods usually go for so long.”

“We all were.” You say.

Your grandmother had been deteriorating for a long time before her death, gradually losing energy and strength until she couldn’t even get out of bed. You remember your mother begging her to seek treatment, to do something about her condition, but she refused. You had been out of bed, overhearing the noise.

“We all have to go sometime.” Your grandmother said over the sound of your mother’s tears, “I’d rather go like this.”

You still don’t know what she meant like that.

Two days later, your grandmother died peacefully in her sleep. She had died so young for a tealblood but her body had aged so terribly due to the illness, looking closer to a thousand years old.

“Thank you for telling me.” You say.

You leave the office and once you’re out the door, you curse yourself. You should have taken the initiative with Barrat: calling her out on keeping you out of the office and making sure you stay in the dark. You shouldn’t tolerate that kind of treatment, especially when it comes to your family…but she’s too smart for that. Barrat has been a lawyer too long to be challenged headfirst. Not without having an advantage.

BF&W want you out the office? Fine, but you’re going to actually work toward a goal. Going to N&M is only going to be a roadblock. You have a better idea in mind.

You’re a Pyrope. You don’t let anyone try to put you on the sidelines.

 

You leave the office parking lot in Kankri’s car, passing by the gate guard as you head onto the main troll. Being legally blind doesn’t prevent you from driving, but you have to do more tedious vision and safety tests than the average person. It’s as if the DMV and doctors have trouble believing you’re a blind troll and _not_ a blind human. Still, driving under scrutiny is better than putting up with the consistently late PVTA.

You arrive at your quiet neighborhood. Few people are walking around or relaxing on their lawns since most parents are inside waiting for their children to make the transition from grub to kit. Inside silken cocoons, an amazing chemical process is taking place: limbs are sprouting, shedding, and skin is going from blood color to uniform grey. It’s fascinating from a scientific aspect but some instinctual insect part of your brain would rather not think about it. You’re not that far off from your own abhorrent pupation into adulthood.

You go home to silence and the smell of lemon cleaner, which means Kankri has been in an anxious cleaning mania all day. You enter the kid’s bedroom to see Kempie’s red silk cocoon is still sitting in the corner. There is shifting movement under the surface but nothing else has changed. Kankri is sitting by the closet, looking at the tall pile of junk piled in the bottom.

“Oh, aren’t you _cute_!” Kankri laughs, “I never thought you would like this, Astrid. You’re going to be _so happy_ for the present Mommy got you.”

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Kankri jolts and looks at you. He must have been too busy fawning over his purple grub to notice you.

“Oh. I uh…” Your matesprit laughs nervously and rubs the back of his head. “Astrid disappeared for a while and I was worried but she was just in the closet and, well, come look!”

You approach the closet and see Astrid is sitting on a pile of the hideous Winter Holiday sweaters that Kankri has been collecting for gods know how long. She is also wearing a tiny sweater and has tiny socks on her horns. She’s been getting incredibly large and growing faster than Kempie ever had. You don’t know the exact science of pupation but you guess that with Astrid’s size and hemotype, it’s a given that it may happen earlier than usual.

“I put the sweater on her but she disappeared.” Kankri chuckles, “I thought she went to tear it to pieces but instead I found her here. She’s so _happy_ , Terezi. Look at that.”

Astrid is doing something you’ve never heard from her before: purring. It’s soft and her eyes are shut, but she looks comfortable in the pile of incredibly colorful and sparkly sweaters.

“When did you buy all of these?” you ask.

“I didn’t. It came in another care package. Come look!”

You follow your matesprit to the living room. Kankri picks up a bright pink box from the couch and sifts through the contents.

“Meenah told me to start writing to Mom. It’s been so long and I was so nervous, but I figured ‘Why not?’. It...” Kankri smiles, “...I think it was awkward for the both of us, even though it was super causal. I sent her pictures of us and how nice the trailer looks. Well, the inside.”

It’s sweet, though you question why Kankri still craves the attention of someone who abandoned and ignored him for years. You question how different the situation would be if Kankri was a fuchsiablood like Meenah. You won’t ask though because you should be the last person to question complicated relationships between parent and child.

“What’s going on with her?” you ask politely.

“A lot of charity and travelling. She always liked to travel.” Kankri says, “She sent us candy, a recipe book, and pictures too! Gods, I’d love to go traveling as much as she does...”

You pick up the package of candy stored in the box. You smell the unknown characters and the sugar leaking from the plastic container.

“Where is this from?” you ask.

“The letters look like the Shadow Troll variation of Alternian, so maybe Chinacan?” Kankri picks out the recipe book. “I know this is in modern Alternian since I told mother I wanted to learn to cook traditional meals.”

You frown. “Wouldn’t that be all bugs?”  

“It’s not _just_ bugs!” He pauses, “At least, I don’t _think_ it is. If so, we’ll just substitute.”

Even with substitutions you’re not sure if your stomach can handle Kankri’s recipes. He’s already insisting on cooking a proper Winter Holiday meal and you’re not sure if your plumbing will tolerate the entire family getting food poisoning.

“Are you going out shopping?” you ask. Kankri hesitates and you sigh, “Kankri, you need to get out.”

Kankri sighs. “You’re right...” He smiles. “I’ll take Astrid. She loves the Winter Holiday music they play at Walmart. Oh, I wonder if Meenah wants to come! I should give her a call.”

Kankri prepares to go out: making a list of things you need from the store, locating his wallet, and getting Astrid ready. The purple grub growls the entire time but you have never once seen her bite Kankri or destroy anything he gives her.

Once Kankri leaves you’re left with Kempie, who is still cocooned. You take off your work clothes and the flat shoes that always pinch your feet and go to the bedroom. You lay on the bed and turn on your husktop. While Microhusk icons flash on the screen, you mentally prepare yourself for an annoying interaction. You’ve been avoiding this until necessary, but now you can’t avoid it.

Conveniently, the person you need to talk is online. It’s as if every force in the world is telling you this is the right moment.

 

\--gallowsCalibrator[GC] began trolling arachnidsGrip[AG]!--

 

GC: WH3R3 D1D YOU PUT 1T?

AG: If you mean my self confidence and 8eauty, I’m sorry to say it has exceeded my 8ody. To measure such immensity would require lessons in quantum physics. >:::)

GC: SOM3TH1NG T3LLS M3 TH4T’S 1NCORR3CT BUT 1 DON’T KNOW 3NOUGH 4BOUT SC13NC3 TO CH4LL3NG3 1T SO 1’M JUST GONN4 MOV3 ON

GC: WH3R3 D1D YOU PUT TH3 BOOKS N3KT4N 3MB3ZZL3D?

GC: TH3 CH3RUBS WOULDN’T JUST R4NS4CK YOUR PL4C3 B3C4US3 YOU HUNG OUT W1TH TH4T DOUCH3B4G

GC: YOU COULDN’T H4V3 B33N TH3 ONLY P3RSON H3 4SSOC14T3D W1TH SO WHY YOU? 1’M 4LSO SUR3 TH3 POL1C3 SCOUR3D YOUR PL4C3 4FT3RW4RD

GC: 1T’S B33N 4 Y34R 4ND NO ON3 H4S B33N 4BL3 TO F1ND TH3 M1SS1NG BOOKS

GC: YOU MUST H4V3 H1DD3N 1T 1N PL41N S1GHT

GC: PL34S3 DON’T T3LL M3 YOU W3NT TH3 CL1CH3 ROUT3 OF 4N 34RR1NG BR4C3L3T OR ON3 OF 4RTH4T’S TOYS

AG: I have a 8etter question: why in the hell is this your 8usiness? Everyone else has moved past that mess with the cheru8s and so should you.

GC: 1F YOU’R3 SO CONF1D3NT 4BOUT MOV1NG ON TH3N WHY 4R3 YOU ST1LL ROOM1NG W1TH H3CUB4? SHOULDN’T YOU H4V3 3NOUGH MON3Y FROM S3LL1NG TH4T 1NFO TO WMS OR TH3 ST4T3 TH4T YOU C4N G3T YOUR OWN PL4C3?

AG: ...

GC: YOU C4N’T C4SH OUT C4N YOU?

GC: S3LL TH3 D4T4 TO TH3 ST4T3 4ND YOU’LL B3 ON WMS’S SH1T L1ST

GC: S3LL TH3 D4T4 TO WMS 4ND YOU’LL B3 ON TH3 ST4T3’S SH1T L1ST

GC: YOU H4V3 4 K1D TO TH1NK 4BOUT 4FT3R 4LL

AG:...aghhh!!!!!!!!!

AG: This is *exactly* why I don’t 8other with you! I may 8e a terri8le moirail 8ut there’s no way in hell you’d respect me as a kismesis!

GC: …

GC: …WH4T 4R3 YOU T4LK1NG 4BOUT?

AG: How the hell is anyone supposed to pitch you when you *always* think you’re right?

AG: You’re insuffera8le! In your version of reality, you’re always right 8ut you do the dum8est shit! And when you get called out on it, you 8rush it off like it’s nothing! Who the hell can pitch that?!

AG: I might 8e an idiot 8ut no one with a 8rain would move in with a violent ex-drunk like Kankri. The only reason everyone was cool with it was 8ecause Kankri is more a danger to himself which is *8ullshit* 8y the way.

AG: I’ve seen the 8ruises Karkat tried to hide throughout school when no one else did. I 8et everyone toler8s it 8ecause you’re 8igger than him and he’ll die way 8efore you do.

AG: I guess he’s perfect for you: you can control him 8ecause he’ll do anything as long as he feels loved. That 8ullshit is fine for you 8ut I don’t want any part of it. I like 8eing my own person. Not someone you can puppeteer in your version of the perfect family and quadrants.

AG: So I don’t need or want your help. I don’t need you sitting on your heavenly cloud trying to reach down to me, acting like I’m an idiotic sinner who doesn’t know the difference 8etween her ass and a hole in the ground.

AG: The fuck do you really want from me? And make it quick 8ecause unlike your fake m8sprit, I don’t have all day.

GC: 1

GC: 1 N33D YOUR H3LP

AG: Oh? Oh *really*?

AG: And what could the perfect troll want from a fuck up like me? Are your m8sprit and son not 8ehaving like the most wonderful dead-eyed sitcom characters?

GC: WOULD YOU L4Y OFF MY F4M1LY? 1 KNOW YOU H4V3 1SSU3S W1TH M3 BUT TH3R3’S NO N33D TO T4LK 4BOUT TH3M L1K3 TH4T TH3Y’R3 NOT 4 P4RT OF TH1S

GC: TH3 F1RM’S H1T 4 SN4G 1N TH3 C4S3 4G41NST DYN4M1CH3M DYN4M1CH3M 1S ST4LL1NG 4ND ODDS 4R3 TH4T TH3Y’R3 US1NG TH1S T1M3 TO DUMP 1NFORM4T1ON

GC: BF&W W4NTS M3 TO GO TO N&M’S OFF1C3 TO S33 1F 1 C4N CO3RC3 ON3 OF TH3 3MPLOY33S TH3R3 1NTO G1V1NG US 1NFO ON TH3 S1D3 BUT 1 H4V3 4 L3SS STUP1D 1D34

GC: 1 B3T TH3 DYN4M1CH3M L4WY3RS K33P COP13S OF 1NFORM4T1ON ON H4ND

GC: YOU JUST SO H4PP3N TO B3 SH4CK1NG UP W1TH ON3 OF THOS3 L4WY3RS 1’M SUR3 SH3 H4S 4 ROOM 1N H3R P3NTHOUS3 TH4T’S UND3R LOCK 4ND K3Y

AG: One: Who the hell says ‘shacking up with’ anymore?

AG: Two: You want me to put myself in harm’s way so that you can gloat at your jo8?

GC: TH1S 1SN’T 4BOUT TH3 JOB

GC: 1T’S 4BOUT G3TT1NG MY MOTH3R TH3 MON3Y SH3 D3S3RV3S 4ND...1’LL P4Y YOU

GC: ONC3 W3 G3T TH3 MON3Y FROM TH3 L4WSU1T 4ND TH3 D3BT 1S MOSTLY P41D OFF 1’LL G1V3 YOU WH4T’S L3FT

AG: Spare me your pity money. What else you got?

GC: YOU C4N’T D34L W1TH WMS F4C3 TO F4C3 NOT W1THOUT R1SK1NG YOUR S4F3TY 4ND YOU DON’T TRUST H3CUB4 OR YOU WOULD H4V3 4LR34DY G1V3N H3R TH3 D4T4

GC: 1 C4N L3T BF&W H4NDL3 TH3 D34L1NGS W1TH WMS K33P1NG YOU 4NONYMOUS 4ND G3TT1NG YOUR MON3Y V14 4 TH1RD P4RTY

AG: Finally, Pyrope. You’re learning to 8ecome an actually competent negotiator. 8ut *I’m* holding onto the data until this is done and *I’m* calling the shots with Hecu8a.

GC: F1N3 BUT 1F YOU FUCK UP 1TS ON YOU

AG: Oh please. I’m so skilled I make my fuckups look like miracles.

 

\--gallowsCalibrator[GC] ceased trolling arachnidsGrip[AG]!--

 

You bite the inside of your cheek. You don’t want to trust Vriska with sensitive situations, but you have few alternatives. Your head feels like its spinning. You could use a drink, but Kankri hates it when you do. He says you make bad choices when your inhibitions are low.

Admittedly he’s right. Your terrible choices coincide with stress and alcohol.

Small footsteps come from the hall. You open the door and see a small mutantblood kit stumbling around; plasma and chunks of hard silk drip off their skin as they walk around. Immediately you’re relieved. Walking within the first couple of minutes of life is success for a troll kit. A kit that can’t walk is doomed to a rough life, for many reasons.

“Kempie?” you ask.

The kit looks at you and sneezes plasma. While he’s coughing up more fluid, you slowly approach him. The kit wipes his face and stares at you. His eyes slowly dilate, adjusting to his new vision. His brain is wrestling with itself, trying to see if you’re a friendly adult or a hungry one.

You kneel so you’re at the same eye level and keep your body language relaxed. Kempie hesitantly steps back and falls on his ass because there’s going to be a _lot_ of that for the first few hours.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Kempie sits up. He’s sniffling but not in tears yet. He looks at you, still grimacing from the fall.

“Do you recognize my voice?” you ask.

 

 

Kempie places two fingers in his mouth, experimenting with heightened senses of taste. His eyes are large and grey as he looks at you.

“Mama?” he asks.

Your heart swells. He said the word two days before molting but to hear it coming out of his newly molted mouth makes your heart feel like its ready to burst.

“That’s right.” You say, fighting tears.

Kempie smiles. “Mama.” He tries to pull off cocoon silk from his arm but its fused. He glares at it, growling.  

“Itchy, huh?” You walk over to Kempie and pick him up. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bathing is a trust exercise for non-aquatic grubs and kits. Water that’s deep enough to drown in makes them anxious, but Kempie doesn’t run. Even when he was a grub, he was always easy going: easily scared but not enough to bite or scream. As you wash off the molting fluids and dissolve the silk with warm water, Kempie points to objects and asks their names. He asks about your eyes, your teeth, and anything else he wasn’t able to vocalize as a grub.

You put Kempie in a puffy sweater patterned with crabs. He looks exactly like Kankri and you can understand how your matesprit melted hearts as a child.

Kankri is more than thrilled when he comes home. He picks up Kempie and spins the kit around, promising to love and cherish him forever. Kempie laughs and doesn’t completely understand the emotional whirlwind going through his father, but appreciates Kankri’s positive energy and attention.

Kankri immediately grabs Astrid and points her at Kempie.

“Look, Astrid! This is your brother!” Kankri says.

Kempie stares at Astrid. Astrid stares at Kempie. Neither seem to have an opinion on each other, not helped by Astrid’s muteness.

“It’s alright. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.” Kankri gushes.

The half-siblings awkwardly stare at each other. Even during dinner Kankri is excited, trying to get Astrid and Kempie to interact. Kempie is more interested in shoving food in his face and getting used to his new taste buds. You’ll definitely have to watch out for that appetite. When Kankri and Astrid are both full and asleep, Kankri is still taking about them in your bedroom.

“He’s so sweet and perfect and _happy_.” Kankri sighs, “I thought he’d attack me on sight like Karkat did when he first molted. My hand was in bandages for weeks because of his teeth.”

“Different mentalities.” You say. Karkat was always an aggressive kid. Only his grandfather could handle him at first.

Kankri sits next to you. “Are you alright?”

“What makes you think I’m not alright?”

The scent of Kankri’s happiness peters off, becoming concern. “You usually have more to say than that.” He pauses, “I hope this entire situation isn’t triggering to you. I know what a tense relationship you have with your father.”

“We don’t have a relationship.” It’s not an exact lie; more of a half truth. Its another one for the ‘its complicated’ category. You have other concerns on mind at the moment. “Kankri, do you think I’m controlling?”

“Yes.” Kankri says.

You expected him to sugarcoat the truth, but Kankri respects you too much for that. You should be proud of his honesty but instead your mood sinks lower.

“I don’t mind though.” Kankri adds, “I think our relationship calls for someone to be in charge on my ‘off’ days. Though, it _is_ a problem that you rarely listen to anyone else.”

“I listen!” you huff.

“Only when you have no choice!” Kankri laughs, “Remember when you had the flu and you refused to go to the doctor for a week? If the situation was reversed, you would’ve had me in the emergency room.”

“It was _only_ strep throat.”

Kankri is smirking. “You could hardly talk and your nose was so clogged you started bumping and tripping over things. You only caved in when you knocked over all the lamps. Rez, I _get_ it.” Kankri takes your hand and kisses the back of it. “I love your independence but it is a problem. I know it’s not my place but I worry about your moirailegiance.”

You try not to be taken aback by the statement. Why would Kankri worry about your pale quadrant? Oh yeah. You’re moirails with his son, who is an emotional powder keg. He’s improved over the past year since he’s in a supportive and emotional healthy flush…but you don’t get anything out of it. You don’t really need his help.

…why _are_ you pale with Karkat?

Are you with him because it feels right or because you don’t trust anyone else to care for him? You don’t like to think about those questions. There are a lot of other things to think of. You blame Vriska for this useless train of thought. You need to be concentrating on DyanmiCHEM and getting the information.

Everything else can come second.  


	2. spiders and dragons

As much as you would love to frolic in a field of flowers with your matesprit and your adorable newly molted son, your work schedules would never allow it. At least not on a weekday.

You work out a schedule with the other parents where Kempie and Astrid are rotated between different homes pending on the day. Mondays and Tuesdays are when they’re with Meenah. Wednesday through Friday they’re with Eridan at your old trailer.

You prefer having Kempie over at your trailer though. She loves her grandson and she could use plenty of happiness. Her health is improving but not enough to return to work, which you know is agitating. Sollux and Eridan work but it’s not enough to feed a family of six.

“I’m glad Meenah helps out because we have Dmitry, but I hate it so godsdamned much.” your brother sighs one afternoon when you go to pick up Kempie. He’s in his bedroom looking at an article about different STEM initiatives coming to the state.

You know better than to suggest financial help. “You’re keeping the lights on though.”

Sollux sighs. “So far, but I know one of them’s going to go up. Electric’s a good candidate with all this construction.”

“At least we don’t live in the north and have a harsh winter.” You shudder at the thought of having to tolerate snowstorms and shoveling driveways. “I know the feeling though. Kankri and I are doing fine as long as we don’t get sick.”

Though that financial disaster is inevitable. You try not to think about it.

You instead concentrate on the pointless endeavor of visiting the N&M offices. The offices which just so happen to be in _fucking Ridgeside,_ which may as well be the other side of the world as far as you’re concerned. What the hell kind of business has an office all the way out in the middle of industrial parks and ugly architectures from three ages ago? You have no idea but you’re there.

At least your gas expenses are being covered so you can’t be that annoyed but _still_. Fucking Ridgeside. 

The office is an ugly block of cement with tiny windows and the inside stinks of must and jobs with only the potential to go down. Still, you put on your friendliest face and tell them your entire spiel: you’re a young up-and-coming journalist doing a special on local industries. You make sure to give off the air of an unknowing high schooler since you still look it and unsure of everything due to your blindness. It helps that the dead-eyed secretary is a human who doesn’t seem to know the wiser.

For two hours you have the attention of a lower level manager. They’re friendly enough, telling you all about the different M&N products: alkaline batteries, coin batteries, hearing aid batteries, USB battery packs, generators, flashlights…the list goes on.

“We also have several programs donating to people in need.” continues the manager, “We work very closely with the UTC government…”

It’s all interesting from a business perspective but it will have no bearing on your case. At least you have an in with the manager. Now you just have to build up this relationship, which is going to take months if you’re lucky. Years if you’re unlucky.

That becomes your life for a whole week. Visiting the office, gaining information and tours of the facility, talking about newspaper articles you’re not writing and observing the assholes who fucked over your mother and gods know how many other trolls. Then you head to the office to check over message and orders.

The only useful information you get out of it is a single comment from the manager.

“We always make sure to hire locally.” The manager says in the middle of talking about the history of M&N before its purchase by DynamiCHEM. “We especially try to hire trolls who are coming out of the prison system. We want to jumpstart their efforts into reentering society.”

Oh yeah. You’re sure they care about that and not the desperate labor.

“Is there a way I can get a tour of a factory?” you ask.

“Oh, that’s not possible. Factories aren’t particularly safe for everyone.” The manager laughs.

You laugh back, smothering your hatred. This bastard sits cozy in an office while trolls slave away and contract cancer from the chemicals. At least you found a point of interest, though you doubt it’ll get you anywhere fast.

The next week is spent in the office doing actual work, which involves returning calls to impatient clients and filling orders. It’s boring work but you’re glad to not be constantly driving around in a car.

That’s when your iHusk vibrates. You glance around in the office but no one is around to catch you in a lapse of not working. You look at it under the desk just to be on the safe side.  

 

\--arachnidsGrip[AG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator[GC]!--

 

AG: guess where I currently am?

GC: SUCK1NG UP TO YOUR SUG4R M4M4 SO H3R WR1NKLY BULG3 SHOOTS OUT 3NOUGH BOONDOLL4RS TO BUY YOU N3W SHO3S?

AG: how old do you think Hecu8a is?

GC: 1’D H4V3 TO C4R3 1F 1 W4NT3D TO 4SK

AG: O8viously you need a picture to shut your mouth a8out my awesome 8eau.

 

Vriska immediately sends you a picture of her standing on a polished wood deck in shorts and sipping a martini. Next to her is the person of your current, intense (but completely platonic) hatred. Hecuba rests on the metal railing, looking off into the water and wearing a designer suit.

 

GC: 1SN’T N1N3 4 L1TTL3 34RLY TO ST4RT DR1NK1NG?

AG: It’s a 8reakfast martini!

GC: TH4T’S NOT 4 TH1NG

GC: WH4T 4R3 YOU DO1NG OUT ON TH3 W4T3R? D1D YOU GO TO 4 P4RTY 4T TH3 PL4YBOY M4NS1ON 4ND TH3Y L3FT YOU ON SOM3ON3’S Y4CHT?

AG: Hecu8a had a meeting. Usually she schedules these things at her office 8ut she’s 8een avoiding some nutcase. We’re heading out to the ocean 8ecause an arcology is coming around and someone wants the modeling company to do promotional shooting.

GC: 1 THOUGHT TH3 LOC4L 4RCOLOG13S W3R3 1NDUSTR14L?

AG: They are 8ut some company 8ought a derelict one and they want to turn it into a hotel. Something for the tourists that give off the retro Eastern vi8e, 8ut they need cash, hence why they’re getting us to make it look ‘more attractive’.

GC: SUCH 4DV3RT1S1NG M3THODS R33K OF D3SP3R4T1ON

AG: You’re telling me.

GC: W41T...*WH4T* NUTC4S3?

AG: One of Hecu8a’s exes. She says they come around from time to time and it’s 8etter to ignore them. They can’t get into the suite thanks to the security 8ut going a8out town is a pain in the ass.

GC: SO…YOU JUST L3FT 4RTH4T 4T TH3 SU1T3 3V3N THOUGH TH3R3’S 4 NUTC4S3 4ROUND?

AG: I already told you that they can’t get into the suite. They don’t have clearance. Anyway, Arthat is a kit. Snippy looks out for him while I’m working. He likes Snippy more anyways.

GC: W4Y TO B3 MOTH3R OF TH3 Y34R

GC: YOU KNOW K1TS DON’T ST4Y SM4LL 4ND CL1NGY FOR V3RY LONG? H3’S NOT GO1NG TO R3COGN1Z3 YOU

AG: You think I don’t know that?

AG: I don’t have a family to rely on. Dad only cares a8out Kanaya, my Mom has her own kid to worry a8out, and I don’t have quads to lean on. I’d love to 8e home with my son 8ut that means ending up on the street. I’d rather 8e a stranger to Arthat than have him go hungry. So I don’t give a fuck what you or anyone else thinks. We’re making it work and that’s what matters.

 

Where did this come from? Your relationship with Vriska has seen anger glare up on both sides but not like this.

 

GC: 1’M SORRY

GC: 1’M SUR3 4RTH4T LOV3S YOU

AG: Fuck off.

 

\--arachnidsGrip[AG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator[GC]!--

 

Well… _that_ could have gone better. You’ve never heard Vriska sound genuinely upset before, not even in person. You didn’t know she had these new buttons to press…but you haven’t talked one-on-one in a long time. You’ve just been so busy with kids and family that you often forget about her. It’s even harder now that she’s in a different part of the city.

Vriska was the only person you talked to for a long time. When Karkat was in one of his moods or Sollux was off with the others, she was the person who would pester you into conversation. The only other person you talked to was John and that was mostly to annoy him during your hormonal period in middle school, when you wanted to pitch everything. Unlike Eridan, you didn’t make a spectacle of yourself.

You wonder when was the last time to spoke to anyone honestly like you do with Vriska. You’d like to think Karkat but no. Karkat has so many burdens on his shoulder that it’s just better to hold things back.

Why are you thinking about this? Everything is fine. There’s no reason to rock the boat. This is what you wanted after all.

You keep working. It puts food on the table. It’s boring but you need to work. You need to think about your family and providing for them. You need to think about your matesprit and your children—no, your _son_. Your only child.

Everything is fine.


	3. one saturday

Vriska doesn’t message you for two days. You’re fine with it though because it’s better to let her work through her mood. Also, you have no idea what to say. Every time you open Trollichum, you just stare at it before closing the application again. You feel so awkward—childish really—and it’s embarrassing to think you’re struggling to apologize to Vriska of all people.

You don’t think about it. You go about your life with your family and sleep long and soundly. You sleep so soundly that you almost sleep through your alarm twice and Kankri has to prompt you get up.

Vriska sends you the message at lunchtime. You’re eating in the break room which smells of cheap, strongly chemical cleaner. You eat the lunch you packed from home when your iHusk vibrates.

 

\--arachnidsGrip[AG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator[GC]!--

AG: So.

AG: Last time things went really shitty and I want to say I’m...

AG: Sorry.

 

What?

What in the fuck?

You at the words and go over them mentally. You check and double-check and realize that yes, that is Vriska and yes, she’s apologize. To you. After what you said last time.

If you were a computer, you would have a displaying a blue screen.

 

GC: WHY 4R3 YOU 4POLOG1Z1NG TO M3? 1 SHOULD B3 TH3 ON3 4POLOG1Z1NG TO YOU 1…SHOULD H4V3 M3SS4G3D YOU 34RL13R BUT…

GC: 1 D1DN’T KNOW WH4T TO S4Y

GC: WH4T 1 S41D W4S OUT OF L1N3 4ND 1’M SORRY

GC: 1 KNOW YOU C4R3 4BOUT YOUR SON 4ND 1 GU3SS 1 D1DN’T R34L1Z3 HOW 4LON3 YOU 4R3 1 DON’T R34LLY KNOW YOUR F4M1LY 4LL TH4T W3LL 4ND 4LL TH3 P3RSON4L TH1NGS TH4T GO ON B3TW33N YOU 1 GU3SS 1T’S 34SY TO 4SSUM3 TH4T 3V3RYON3’S 1S 4S H3LPFUL 4S M1N3

AG: Oh, make no mistake, Pyrope: you were 8eing a Grade A 8ag of dicks 8ut I didn’t have to freak out like that. I haven’t made a 8lock of text like that since I used to RP with Nepeta. There’s a lot of things going on and I’m on edge 8ut I shouldn’t take it out on you.

 

You stare at the words again. It is in Vriska’s typequirk, but the context makes little sense. They’re...sincere and if you were high school, you’d think this is the beginning of a prank or something she plotted in an RP to lure you into a false sense of security before twisting the knife.

Your mind can only concoct one response.

 

GC: WH4T

GC: WH4T 1S TH1S

GC: YOU’R3 B31NG W31RD

AG: I’m not 8eing weird! I’m 8eing...I don’t know.

AG: Me.

AG: Though honestly, things 8etween us have always 8een weird. And FYI, this isn’t a quadrant thing since everyone seems to 8e demanding we talk a8out quadrants now that we’re all legal adults and they respect our relationship choices a8out 8% more than they did in high school.

GC: WH4T

AG: I’ve just 8een thinking a lot a8out WMS and the time I spent in the Squalor. You know, I don’t like to think a8out that time 8ecause it was terrifying. We almost died that day and it felt like the end of the world was going on. I still get nightmares a8out 8eing trapped in the house and Karkat doesn’t show up to rescue me. It was awful…I never want to feel like that ever again.

AG: I think that’s what scares me the most. Sometimes it feels like Nitrams and Serkets are cursed and no matter what we do, we’re going to get hurt. I don’t want to hurt my son, either through my actions or my words 8ecause I’m well aware I can 8e a huge 8itch. I accept that, 8ut I don’t want my son to get hurt. That’s why I do my 8est, even though I know it’s not great. I just feel he’s safer with Snippy than with me or Karkat, 8ecause he also has a 8ad temper himself. That and he doesn’t really have the room for Arthat or the money to support him. I’d rather Arthat not feel like a 8urden.

AG: May8e I’m wrong 8ut that’s how I feel. Anyway, I’m sorry I flipped out on you 8ut you really 8rought up the wrong thing at the wrong time. And you were 8eing a huge dick.

 

Did…Vriska just explain her trigger warnings to you?

 

GC: 1 4M G3NU1N3LY SORRY 1 SHOULD KNOWN B3TT3R 4ND HON3STLY…

GC: 4ND HON3STLY 1 C4N’T CR1T1C1Z3 YOU FOR MOTH3R1NG 1 G4V3 UP KH4N13 1 ST1LL DON’T TH1NK 1T W4S TH3 R1GHT TH1NG TO DO

AG: It’s not like you had much of a choice. I would’ve given her up too.

GC: 1 KNOW 1T W4S TH3 R3SPONS1BL3 TH1NG BUT 1 ST1LL F33L L1K3 4N 4SSHOL3 4ND 1 W4S HOP1NG TH4T F33L1NG WOULD F4D3 BUT 1T N3V3R D1D 1TS L1K3 TH3S3 SC4RS ON MY F4C3 3V3N THOUGH MY 3Y3S 4R3 US3L3SS 4ND 1T DO3SN’T HURT 4NYON3 1 ST1LL G3T TH1S W31RD PH4NTOM P41N L1K3 TH3R3 4R3 L4SH3S OR DUST 1N MY 3Y3S 3V3N THOUGH 1 C4N’T R34LLY F33L TH3M

AG: Your eyes can’t feel anything?

GC: NO TH3 OPT1C N3RV3 1S BURNT OUT SO 3V3N CYB3RN3T1C R3PL4C3M3NTS WON’T WORK FOR M3 YOU COULD ST4B M3 1N TH3 3Y3 4ND 4LL 1 WOULD F33L 1S 4 SL1GHT PR3SSUR3 BUT 1T WOULDN’T HURT

GC: 1’M W4Y B3TT3R OFF TH4N 4 BL1ND HUM4N BUT 1’M 4T 4 D1S4DV4NT4G3 1F TH3R3’S T34R G4S OR 1F 1 H4V3 4 COLD

AG: I never realized it was like that. I always thought you could see clearly with no pro8lems, like Daredevil.

GC: 1 DON’T KNOW 4BOUT D4R3D3V1L BUT 1 H4V3 PROBL3MS W1TH M1RRORS TH3Y ONLY R3FL3CT L1GHT SO TH3Y’R3 US3L3SS TO M3 1 C4N US3 MY S3NS3 FOR WH3N 1 PUT ON CLOTH3S BUT WH3N 1T COM3S TO MY H34D 4ND F4C3 1 C4N’T DO 4NYTH1NG 1’M 3SS3NT14LLY BL1ND SO 1 H4V3 TO 31TH3R DO GU3SSWORK

 

Sollux used to help you do a check about what matched and what looked horrible together. Now the job is up to Kankri, though you hate being a bother. It’s a lot easier to have the same reliable hairstyle and fashion.

 

AG: You know that sounds like an excuse for you to just dress tacky. ::::P

GC: 1 DON’T DR3SS T4CKY!

AG: You need to look at Troll Weird Al’s “Tacky” 8ecause I have seen you wear at least one of those outfits.

GC: L1K3 YOU H4V3N’T 4CH13V3D SOM3 L3V3L OF T4CKY W34R1NG 4LL THOS3 D3S1GN3R OUTF1TS PLUS 1’M BL1ND WH4T DO 1 C4R3 4BOUT F4SH1ON?

AG: Your standard of 8lindness is 8ullshit. I’m calling Pyrope shenanigans on it. Also, I got so let’s meet up in person.

GC: 1N P3RSON?

AG: Of course in person!

AG: Seriously, Pyrope, you need to get out more. You’re 8ecoming one of those net only, shut ins that h8s talking to people face to face, which shouldn’t even 8e a pro8lem since you can taste emotions with your Daredevil powers.

GC: 1’M NOT 4 SHUT 1N OR D4R3D3V1L

AG: You got the lawyering part down and 8eing from a rough part of the city.

GC: ...FUCK

AG: Hah! >::::)

AG: Anyway, I’m picking you up on Saturday. If we’re meeting, its not going to 8e in some dreary restaurant.

GC: 1 H4V3 TH1NGS TO DO ON S4TURD4Y!

AG: Make your mutie do them. I’m sure he’ll 8e thrilled to play housewife while his m8sprit actually gets things done.

You groan, but there’s no easy way to talk Vriska out of your ideas once she’s made up her mind. You _need_ that information.

 

GC: F1N3

AG: Don’t worry. You won’t regret this. >::::)

 

\--arachnidsGrip[AG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator[GC]!--

 

A second later, you’re already starting to regret it.

You have no idea how you’re going to dress for the occasion, but you put it off. It’s not like it’s going to be a huge concern.

It’s not a big deal. You’ll just be hanging out with Vriska. It’s just been a while. It’s a not a big deal. In fact, you _refuse_ to treat this like it’s a big deal. The first thing you do when you go home is locate Kankri and inform him of your Saturday plans.

“A girl’s day out? Sounds like fun.” Your matesprit chuckles, “I’m glad you two are hanging out again.”

You have no idea why he would be happy about that. Yes, it’s been a while since you went out with friends, but you’ve been busy. This shouldn’t be a big deal. You still refuse to make it a big deal.

 

Saturday comes and you’re not nervous or concerned. You’re dressed perfectly normal, sitting on your front lawn in a rather uncomfortable lawn chair you should have replaced two years ago. Kankri is inside the trailer, wrangling Kempie and Astrid for a fun day at the park. Most of his time is spent trying to coax Astrid out from her hiding spots all over the house.

December isn’t an ice cold month like it is in the north. Standing outside is tolerable without a jacket out but you have one on because Kankri insists on it. Most people are still indoors or out bracing the holiday crowds for shopping. It feels like you’re the only one around in the neighborhood.

A squeal comes from across the lawn. A naked teal kit runs across the SHEV lawn, enjoying the freedom and apparently not caring but the slight chill in the air. A second later Dirk runs after them holding clothes.

Khanie.

You inhale too quickly and the oxygen rushes to your head. Has it really been that long? Then you recall that Khanie and Kempie are twins, so it makes sense that they’d molt at the same time. You hadn’t heard about it because you haven’t had time for Trollbook since you started working. In fact, you haven’t had time for most social things since employment.

Had Karkat mentioned it during one of your pale sessions? You doubt it since Khanie is a taboo subject for the both of you.

You look back at Khanie. She’s identical to Karkat in her face and body structure: stocky, rambunctious, and laughing with the full force of her voice. She puts up a good chase before Dirk catches her.

“Daddy!” Khanie laughs.

Dirk heads back inside the trailer, carrying the still naked kit. “Why do you keep taking off your clothes?”

Khanie laughs, offering no explanation for her behavior. You figure it’s the same inexplicable reason Kempie keeps taking off his clothes at random. You’re sure Dirk is rolling his eyes behind those dark shades as he carries his daughter inside.

You’re glad that Khanie has a supportive father, unlike you. In fact, she has two of them. She’ll never have to experience what you did.

Something wet runs down your face. You wipe your eye with the one functioning tear duct. You must look insane: a tealblood standing out in the cold with a single steam of tears running down her face.

You’re thankful when you hear a car horn and a rumbling engine. You walk toward the sound, ignoring the throbbing in your stomach and the lump in your throat. You walk toward the car, which is of the typical quality Vriska drives: a well-used luxury car that could use a wash. The kind of car that can be driven to business meetings far away but isn’t a huge financial loss if something happens to it. In other words, it’s the perfect loan car from Vriska’s sugar mama.

You open the unlocked door and step inside. The seating is comfortable, although the inside of the car smells musty. It must only be driven in limited occasions.

Vriska has on a dress jacket combo. A year ago you would think tomboyish Vriska wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the same kind of fashion Kanaya and Porrim do. She even has the same kind of shades that Porrim wears: curved with jade frames, studded with silver gems.

The ceruleanblood frowns when she sees your face. “Are you alright?”

You nod, wiping your eye again. “Allergies.”

“Yeah right. You got the Hollywood single tear thing going on.” Vriska snorts.

The car lurches forward, quickly picking up speed as it heads down the street. It turns a curve and you feel like you’re making a getaway after a high valued theft. You don’t say anything, listening to the bland sound of Winter Holiday music that’s been nonstop since the start of December.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before.” Vriska says.

“Only one of my tear ducts work.” You grumble, “Even if I was crying…it can be kind of hard to tell unless…” Unless you’re a total emotional wreck and it puts your eyes into overdrive. Sometimes the other eye can work up some tears in that case.

Vriska is either unaware of your irritation or doesn’t care. Going by the vaporous cloud of curiosity oozing off her, she’s a lot more interested in your freakishness. “If your tear ducts are fucked up, how do you keep your eyes moist?”

“I don’t bother.” In the early days, the optometrist recommended eye drops but that was just a courtesy. The eyes could never be repaired. There was no point in maintaining them. “Why are we talking about this? And where are we going? You hate coming out here.”

Vriska has more questions but she bites them back, finally getting the message. “I don’t hate it. I was visiting Mom, so I figured I’d grab you.” She grins. “Make you dance through a few hoops before I give you the lowdown.”

You sigh. Classic Serket. “What dances do you have planned? Are we going to see a tedious movie involving pirates and obscene outfits?”

“Like I’m _that_ uncreative.”

You’re immediately full of fear. A creative Vriska is a dangerous Vriska. You wait for her to bring you to some crowded public place or one of the trashy nightclubs downtown.

You’re surprised when the car takes you in the opposite direction, to East New Jack. You’ve never been to East New Jack before, mostly because new places make you nervous. Walking around a new area means forcing your sense to be on high alert until you get adjusted and depending on the stimulus, that could between a few days to a month.

Vriska parks the car on the street and you follow her into a store. There are a lot more people walking around, so you have to stay close to the ceruleanblood. You question if there are always this many people around or if it’s just the holiday season. You don’t go so far as holding Vriska’s hand but you stay incredibly close.

“Where are we going?” you hiss in a low voice.

“Can’t you tell?” Vriska asks.

You hear a door opening and a bell jingling. Other than that, everything is blurry. You’re still taking in what is around you: new people walking the street, the smell of trees far more prominent in the smaller city, musicians busking on corners and the _clink_ of coins being tossed in velvet-lined guitar cases.

“Terezi?” Vriska asks.

“I’m fine.” You grunt and keep moving forward.

The interior of wherever Vriska brought you is a lot easier on the senses. It’s a small store and going by the dust and old clothes with high mark-up tags, you can guess that this is a vintage clothing store. You continue sniffing and right on cue, there’s a group of hipster girls standing in the corner talking about a college assignment. Or you _think_ that’s what they’re talking about. You almost wish Dave was here to translate. 

“Looking for something to sleep in?” you ask.

“Getting you something that’s not horribly tacky.” Vriska walks to a rack and looks through the clothes arranged there.  

You shake your head. “No way. I’m not letting you dress me up.”

Vriska smiles. “If you want the info, you will.” You groan and Vriska laughs, “Consider this a donation: the fashionable helping the tragically tacky with their unfortunate disposition.” 

You can only guess that Vriska’s spidery brain will enjoy watching you wear something ridiculous. You’re beyond the point of questioning Vriska’s motivation for anything right about now.

Vriska picks out an outfit and you go in the back to the small changing closet. You pull the curtain around you, fumbling in the narrow space. The scent of dust is cluttered and patchouli oil and Axe Bodyspray is cluttered around your nostrils. Its like _Eau de Hipsters_ and it makes you want to gag. You change as quickly as possible before stepping out.

“This better not be plaid.” You say.

“You can’t tell?” Vriska snickers.

“I have trouble with patterns sometimes.” You have no idea what you look like but you bet Vriska’s getting a kick out of humiliating.

Vriska walks closer to you, placing a hat on your head. Underneath her scent of Versace Bright Crystal Eau De Toilette is something even more offensive and confusing: warmth and pride. She’s enjoying your humiliation but for the wrong reasons.

“What’s wrong, Pyrope?” Vriska asks, “Not used to actually wearing something tasteful?”

“I don’t get it.” You say under the sound of the hipster’s loud conversations. “No one cares how I look.”

“Hey, _I_ care if you’re going to be seen with me.” Vriska says, “Do you _seriously_ not get dressed up and go out?”

“Not really my thing.” Kankri and you prefer to spend your evenings at home and if you go out, it’s usually quiet and informal. You think the last time you got dressed up to go to a function was a neighborhood-only dinner party when you were a kit.

“ _Wow_ , that’s depressing.” Vriska snorts, “I’m definitely getting you the clothes now.”

“No way! I’m not being in debt to you.” You hiss.

“Don’t worry, Pyrope. It’s charity.” Vriska pulls out glasses and hands them to you. “Try these on too.”

You take the item and sniff at it. Black fames, curved shape, and dark red tint. Definitely a vintage Fifth Age aesthetic that isn’t really your thing either.

“What’s wrong with mine?” you ask.

“For one thing, it makes you look like a librarian from Troll Gidget.” Vriska says with a roll of the eyes.

“What the hell is ‘Troll Gidget’?” you grunt.

“A Fifth Age Show.”

You sigh. “Of _course_ it is.”

You glance around, trying to sniff out if the hipsters are paying you any attention. You’ve been blind for years but you don’t want just anyone looking at your scarred, fucked up face. Just to be certain, you turn around and make the switch. At least no one will scream at the sight of your face.

When you turn back around, you look at Vriska. “Well?”

“Oh. Oh wow.” Vriska laughs. “You look…uh…” The ceruleanblood gives another laugh and you can’t tell from the timbre if she’s nervous about something. Her scent changes from curious to excited and you have no idea what _that_ could mean. “I was right: Kanaya’s not the only fashion genius in the family. I should take a picture and tell her to eat shit.”

“Please don’t.” You switch the glasses and quickly retreat back into the changing room. “I’m changing back into normal clothes.”

“I’m _totally_ buying this.”

“Don’t.”

“Doing it!”

Every growl and grimace bounces off the ceruleanblood as she purchases the outfit. Apparently your humiliation isn’t done yet because Vriska drags you out of the store and toward double doors under a bright red bright awning. You can smell the metal sign hanging above the awning fabric: Bramble’s Market.

The inside of the building screams refurbished warehouse with its high ceilings and long stretches of wooden floors. The stores lack doors and are more like giant, cubicle partitions with windows displaying their goods: milk thistle extract in plastic bottles, soy wax blended candles with glass vessels and diffusers, artisanal dark chocolate, and handmade jewelry…

Its obnoxious its how independent it is. If you weren’t walking around the store, you would think this was a staged set; the background in some hipster related TV drama that’s hyped up larger than life for the sake of the audience.

Vriska waits at the café while you use the bathroom to change into your new clothes. The only reason you agree to it is because the dress is more comfortable and the jeans are starting to chafe. You’ve changed in enough stalls back in high school not to be troubled by the cramped space. You place your old clothes in the thrift store bag and  return to the café.

Vriska is waiting for you, pretending to casually sip a soy latte shake while her eyes roam the area.

“I don’t like this.” You say, glaring at Vriska.

“Oh come on. That outfit is right up your alley.” Vriska says. “You’ve _always_ liked colorful stuff and then you started wearing the same drab junk. It’s not a crime to wear something nice.”

You sit across from her, resting your arms on the cold table. “It is when you can’t afford it…”

“Come off it already.” Vriska growls, “Even when we were flat broke, we came up with amazing shit. Remember those cosplays we did of our characters?”

“That was middle school.” And embarrassing as hell in retrospect when Vriska and you went to your middle school Halloween dance party as something you made up.

“We cosplayed in junior year.” Vriska continues, “We hung out all the time and then you just…stopped. And don’t stay it was having a kid. Something happened before that. You…shut me out, Terezi.”

A few people glance at you before quickly moving along their way. They’re questioning what’s going on between you, but they’re not willing to get involved. A security guard eyes you from the corner but quickly returns to looking out for shoplifters and loud teenagers.

“...it’s complicated, okay?” you say, and hate that your voice doesn’t go much higher than a whisper.

“It’s not.” Vriska growls, “You just don’t like to think about _your_ problems.”

You have an argument for this. You know you have an opening statement, point, and counterpoint to everything Vriska says but it’s dead before it leaves your mouth.

You get up without a word. You walk in a direction—any direction—putting distance between Vriska and yourself. You hear her call you but you’re not paying attention. You just shove past the crowds, stumbling down a short flight of stairs.

Vriska doesn’t take long to catch up with you. She grabs your arm, pulling you aside. You look at her, standing in an unknown hallway. It smells of sugar and high quality plastics, so you’re close to a toy store, candy shop, or a combination of both. You’re too disoriented to take a real ‘look’.

“Are you alright?” Vriska asks.

“I’m not…” Your eyes sting but no tears come. Apparently you’re not upset enough for your tears ducts to start working. “Why are you doing this, you asshole? Why are you being so fucking nice? You’re nothing…”

She’s nothing like what you remember, but you can’t say it. It hurts too much to admit it.

Vriska moves in closer, placing her colder hand on your hand. Once touch and you forget why you’re here—standing in this hallway, feeling tired and left behind just like you did with her. You forget about DynamiCHEM, the lawsuit, and the firm cheating thousands of people. You don’t think of anything but the smell of Vriska’s expensive perfume in your nostrils and the haze of sounds, smells, and the taste of air particles that makes up her body in your vision.

“Why are you here for me now?” you ask.

“I don’t know.” Vriska smiles but its small and lacks the confidence her smiles usually do. “Maybe…it’s hate?”

You want to kiss her. You want to seize her in your arms or have her seize you and kiss her. You want to dig your claws into her flesh. You want her blood under your nails, your fangs in her throat, and her oily black hatred only for you.

“Shit!” Vriska hisses.

Then the moment is gone just as quickly as it begun. Vriska grabs your hand and yanks you down the hall.

“What’s wrong?” You don’t smell anything dangerous and don’t hear a gun being cocked or a tear gas can’s pin being pulled. All you can smell and hear are regular people.

“Just move. Now.” Vriska answers.

Vriska doesn’t allow for much leeway with her arguments. You move with her, pushing through the double doors to be assaulted by the sugar and cream scent filling the air of the ice cream shop. You walk past the long line of families and dating couples and head to another door.

You exit from the stuffy heat of Bramble’s Market and into the tepid weather outside. Only a few days from Winter Holiday and the weather is still refusing the dip lower than the lower sixties. Rain is drizzling outside, mussing your vision into a foggy haze of sound and color.

Vriska still has a tight grip on you and turns down a road. She pushes people aside and you feel the smells and colors rush by you; everything blending together and people’s faces a blur.

“What’s going on?” you ask. You turn your head but there are too many people on the street. There’s no clue as to who Vriska is running from.

“Just keep moving.” Vriska answers and refuses to look behind her.

Vriska crosses the road with you following, narrowly avoiding the cars honking at you. You hold tighter onto Vriska because you have no idea where you are and the rain and street noise is blurred everything together, like water on paint—muddy and messy with only a vague hint of where you could be.

Vriska stand on the other end of the street, wiping sweat from her forehead.

 “Damn it. Gods fucking damn it.” Vriska gasps.  

You turn your head to see what could be causing her so much distress, but the streets are still crowded. You still can’t put together who it could be.

Vriska looks around and tugs you in direction of a store. You don’t get a chance to see what the sign is before you both duck inside. The smell of polished hardwood floors and aged paper hits your nose, putting together a more solid picture than the one you had outside. On the walls are posters of Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley, placed behind racks of novelty hot sauces and quirky books with topics like feminism craft projects and embarrassing pictures of people with their cats.   

Vriska goes to the counter where a human woman is looking at you.

“Hey, can you help us?” Vriska points to the door. “My creepy ex is following me. C-can we hide out here? They’re coming--”

The woman’s eyes go wide but she nods. “Oh shit. Sure.” She points toward the back of the store. “Head downstairs and go to the toys section. No one really goes there.”

“Thanks!” Vriska says.

Vriska moves through the racks of vintage clothes and books to the stairs. All the while, she maintains a tight grip on your wrist—as if she’s afraid of losing you in such a small store. Even when you walk down the creaking wood stairs, her grip never loosens.

The bottom floor of the store is dusty, full of bargain bin books that must have been monstrously unpopular to be sent down here. Vriska doesn’t stop moving until she’s in the toy aisle, surrounded by handmade wooden toys and stuffed animals labeled with the names of different charities. Finally, she lets go of your hand and takes a big breath.

Upstairs, you hear the muffled voice of the human employee talking to someone. You can’t hear the other person well, but there’s a definitive back and forth going on there.

“Jegus, that was close.” Vriska pants.

You only shrug, but don’t speak. Right now, you’re putting all your focus into getting your bearings on what is around you. You can hear your grandmother, educating you on how to pick apart a room by object size and colors—breaking it down just to mentally map it out and put it together again.

“Terezi?” Vriska asks.

You swallow. “I’m fine.”

“Who are you trying to fool?” Vriska touches your shoulder but you shrug her away. The ceruleanblood frowns. “Seriously, Rez. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I just…” You exhale. You hate admitting shit like this but Vriska is like an overly playful bulldog. Once she has something in her mouth, she refuses to let go of it. “I’m not used to being here.” you admit.

Vriska at least has the sense to look embarrassed by the revelation. “Shit. I forgot about how your vision works…”

“Yeah.” You murmur.

“Sorry. Just had to get away. You know how it is.” Vriska then laughs, “Or maybe you don’t, given how your life’s not even half as crazy as mine. Anyway, it wasn’t even my ex.” She rolls her eyes. “One of Hecuba’s crazy one.”

One of? What the hell does _that_ mean?

Before you can ask, something else has taken Vriska’s attention.

“Hey, look at that!” she says and the ceruleanblood heads toward a wall display at the end of the aisle.

You follow after her and are faced with a wall of Scalemates. They have new costumes and designs that you’ve never seen before.

“I guess they’re coming back because of nostalgia.” You say.

Vriska smiles. “Looks like your old hobby’s become the ironic indulgence of middle aged adults who are trying to feel young.”

You’d offer an equally witty observation but your eyes are on a Scalemate. It has a big grin with thin horns and a rope hanging around its neck. You think it’s supposed to be a superhero, though you don’t know which one.  

“Kind of looks like Redglare doesn’t it?” you say.

Vriska tilts her head. “No clue, but something tells me she would be into something as warped looking as this. Who makes a toy with a noose?”

“Our grandparents?”

“Good point.”

You haven’t had a Scalemate in so long. You left half your toys at home to be passed down to Sollux and Eridan’s kids and the rest are with Kempie and Astrid. Though now that you’re thinking about it, you miss the softness of your old Scalemates and how they would squeak.

“Hey, how did your grandmother teach you to do your weird hear-taste-smell sight anyway?” Vriska peers around the different aisles, checking for the ex before you continue on your way. “I’ve never heard of anyone else being able to do it.”

“It’s hard to explain. Mostly, it was a lot of memorization. I have no idea why I can do it and others can’t. Maybe it’s genetic?”

Vriska shrugs and double-checks the aisle before turning to you. “Alright, let’s get out of here. I think that bag of dicks is done waiting around.”

You find the downstairs cash register, which has a display of novelty books and gag gifts. The Scalemate’s price is definitely more than it should be, but you reason that it’s fine since you’re not getting yourself anything for Winter Holiday.

You exit out the bottom level and into an alleyway. The alleys are the only remnant of what was once a warehouse district: tall brick buildings with narrow windows that once held machinery used to aid in small engine repair and plastic fabrication. Now it’s all gentrified into expensive store fronts and single bedroom apartments.

You stay close to Vriska, following her out of the alleyway and into a park sequestered behind the circle of buildings. The park has a bike path, a small playground, and a fountain in the center with a bronze statue of the Maiden Made Eternal pouring out water from a jug. A man in a saxophone plays besides the fountain while families stroll by with their children. Pigeon-lusus follow the occasional couple, seeking out food. As much as you try to get close to the skittish creatures, they always take off.

Vriska brings you down another alley in the hopes of finding an exit out of the area. You walk down, looking at signs denoting that the narrow doors lead elsewhere. It’s here you see a sign saying _Two-Moon Grill_ accompanied by a green and pink moon. Before Vriska can say anything, you head inside.  

The place’s walls are old brick, giving it a rough, Old World look. There are lines in the floor where machinery once stood and the floor has been left in its original, rough condition. On the walls are paintings of Alternian landscapes, from the seashore full of deadly lusus to the legendary walking dead of the deserts.

“What a weird place.” Vriska mutters, “It’s like someplace my Grandma would be into.”

“I like it.” You approach the counter, where a blueblood waiter is standing. They wear all black and have a symbol stitched over their heart. It takes you a second to realize that is the old, blueblood symbol.

The blueblood inclines his head. “Welcome.”

“Nice place you got here.” You say, “What do you serve?”

“The best Altish cooking you can get without going outside South New Jack.” The blueblood says.

You only know about the Altish in their isolated communities in the sticks. Still, you never heard of the cooking being popular, but leave it up to hipsters to find something new for them to popularize and later loathe.

Vriska and you take a seat by a booth with a painting of the Alternian sea, decorating with fleets of gamblignant ships riding the tumultuous waves. The blueblood brings over a pitcher of ice water, cups, and hands you menus. You flip it open, but it’s not long until your nose picks up an interesting option.

“Caterpillars?” you ask.

“Our ancestors had limited options for protein, so insects make up most of our menu.” The blueblood’s eyes narrow. “Of course we have a ‘local’ option for less traditional palates.”

You hear the challenge in his voice. “I’m trying it.”

Vriska makes a face. “You are not.”

Now you _definitely_ can’t resist it. You look at the blueblood. “Bring me a serving of the fried caterpillars.”

“I am calling your bluff, Pyrope.” Vriska says. She looks at the waiter. “I’ll have shrimp and grits like a _non_ - _crazy_ tealblood.”

The blueblood walks away, smiling to himself like he’s enjoying a private joke.

“You’re jealous of my sense of adventure.” You say.

“I’m _scared_ of your sense of ‘adventure’.” Vriska counters.

“You know shrimp are bugs, right?”

“Yeah, but they live in the sea. Not the _dirt_.”

“Oh like the sea isn’t just as gross as the ground.” You snort, pouring yourself a cup of ice water. After running around the city, you’re parched. “So is this what you do all day? Eat out and show off how cute your outfits are?”

“I fucking wish. Do you have any idea how much running around I do in a day? I’m just…taking a break right now.” Vriska exhales but there’s a distant look in her eyes. She looks down, making sure to avoid eye contact with you. “I saw John yesterday. It was…weird. He’s still getting everything together and…” She frowns. “It’s horrible visiting him. It reminds me too much of my grandmother. I know he’ll get better but…”

There unease in her eyes transitions into a look you’re too familiar with: fear. You remember having those times of intense unease; in the early days after your father’s accident where he would bounce between clarity and forgetful near-idiocy. The neurologist had been optimistic at first, thinking that his neurons could repair…but no. The old him was gone forever.

“He’s still alive because of you. That has to count for something.” You say.

“I could have helped sooner.” Vriska slumps in her seat. She’s not completely drained but she’s getting there. Before you can ask her more questions, she abruptly says, “The files are definitely in the suite.”

You blink. The statement comes so quickly that you get conversation-related whiplash. You have to remind yourself that you’re not here for pleasantries. You’re for your mother.

You take a sip of the water, clearing your throat and refocusing your mind before speaking. “What makes you say that?”

“The briefcases.” Vriska says, “I’ve lived with Hecuba long enough to know she has two: one for casual work and one for important documents. The second has a number combination lock. The unlocked briefcase goes everywhere but the locked one goes in the office in the suite. Unfortunately, I can’t find the key to get into that office.”

“It’s not in her room?” When Vriska shakes her head, you mull over the other options. “Does Hecuba own other apartments?”

“Yeah, but in Chiquago—unless she has a hidden apartment in New Jack.”

“Where _is_ Hecuba now? Back at the suite?”

“No. She’s in Chiquago. Her son’s boarding school is having some kind of performance.” Vriska searches her memory. “It’s the same one she went to so she actually doesn’t mind showing up.”

From what you know of Hecuba, you can’t see her expressing maternal or paternal warmth toward anything. You wonder what Hecuba gets out of being in a relationship with Vriska. Is it a way for the far older troll to feel younger? How do Vriska and Hecuba act when they’re alone? Is there any chemistry between them?

“Is this the kid of the crazy ex?”

“Gods forbid.” Vriska rolls her eyes. “That’s something different. Even _Hecuba_ doesn’t even want to talk about that.”

That also means that Arthat is at home with just a lusus but that’s still a touchy subject.

“Is there a way you can snoop around the suite?” you ask.

Vriska ponders and you’re reminded of your role-plays, when you would plot about whom to screw over and push the others toward a quest when they were straying.

“Not easily. Hecuba’s left me in her place but she definitely doesn’t trust me. Certain doors are marked to know if someone fiddles with something: papers in the door cracks and so on. If I need to snoop, I need to get her out of the house at random.”

“And if you’re out of the house, you can’t snoop either.”

Vriska nods. “I can’t be in two places at once.”

Your waiter comes by with your orders. You’re slightly disappointed when the fried caterpillars taste no different from fried shrimp. The real enjoyment is grossing out Vriska by eating them in front of her.

The last time you had fun like this was when Kankri and you ate at McDonalds after spending the entire day going from store to store shopping. You sat in a booth eating chicken nuggets and snickering about bad discourse you saw passed around the internet.

Vriska and you finish the meal, skip out on dessert, tip well, and continue exit out into the street. You hold Vriska’s hand and feel all your frustrations ebb into something different; focusing it on her.

But you can’t remind. You’ve gone down separate paths a long time ago. She belongs in the land of hipsters and you are in the land of trailer trash. Neither of you can coexist except for these brief moments when nothing else matters and everything is shut out by your mutual frustration with each other.

It’s fine though. This is what you’ve wanted. You have a nice trailer, a matesprit that loves you, a family that won’t abuse you…everything is fine and this is what you wanted.

You walk through the door of your home. The living room is full of canned laughter and Kankri is sitting on the couch with Kempie and Astrid. Astrid is curled up in his lap asleep and Kempie’s eyes are on the TV. Kankri has his arms around both his children, radiating warmth.

When Kankri sees you, he smiles. “Terezi? You look…great.” Your matesprit untangles himself from Astrid and Kempie, walking over. “Where did you get this little number from?”

“I was coerced into it.” You grunt.

“You look charming.” Kankri pulls out his iHusk. “Let me take a picture!”

“Kankri…”

“Terezi, _please_. I’m sure your mother would want to see it.”

You groan but stay still to satisfy your matesprit’s desires. It’s not like he asks for a lot. Once Kankri has taken a satisfactory amount of pictures, you take off your shoes and head into the bedroom. You remove the annoying clothes and toss them on the bed.

You should really stuff them into the back of the closet never to be seen or worn again. There’s no point in owning anything nice. Your job is never going to demand you go to important meetings or conferences where you need to stand out and impress anyone. There’s seriously no point…and yet something stops you from putting the clothes away. After all, they didn’t cost you anything. It would be a shame to never wear it.

You sigh and put the clothes in the laundry pile. You did sweat in them and it’s a bad idea to put bad smelling clothes in the closet.

You go to your own closet and look through your outfits. Now that Vriska mentioned it…a lot of your clothes are rather on the drab side. The same jeans and T-shirts you’ve had since high school. You can’t remember the last time you actively went shopping or even put aside the money to do so.

Maybe you should start sewing again. Kanaya said you weren’t that bad at it. Plus, Kempie and Astrid are growing quickly and mending their clothes would definitely save you a lot of money.

Though you have no idea where you put your sewing kit. You hope you didn’t leave it at your house. You decide to explore the boxes pushed into the back of the closet just to be certain.

While searching the boxes, your iHusk vibrates. When you pick it up, ocher text is staring at you.

 

\--twinArmageddons[TA] began trolling gallowsCalibrator[GC]!--

 

TA: holy 2hiit. ha2 my older 2ii2ter been converted two the holy cult that ii2 hiip2terdom?

GC: OH GODS D1D K4NKR1 PUT M3 ON TROLLBOOK 4G41N?

TA: you and about ten piic2 of a2triid and kempiie playiing. and by ‘playiing’ ii meant a2triid 2tariing iintwo 2pace whiile kempiie attempt2 two get two be le22 creepy.

TA: 2o, are you goiing two 2tart haviing a moviie niight wiith dave 2o he can 2tart iindoctriinatiing you iintwo the hiip2ter way of liife?

GC: G3T B3NT 2XD1CKH34D 1T W4S VR1SK4’S 1D34

TA: you and vrii2ka hung out all day? ii thought you were doiing a bu2iine22 thiing?

GC: 1T W4S BUS1N3SS

GC: 1 H4D BUS1N3SS W1TH VR1SK4

TA: oh, *really*?

GC: Y3S R34LLY! W3 H4D 4 LUNCH M33T1NG

TA: 2o when exactly diid thii2 meetiing become dre22 up?

GC: VR1SK4 1NS1ST3D 1 W34R SOM3TH1NG “N1C3” 1F 1 W4S GO1NG TO B3 S33N W1TH H3R TH3N SH3 DR4GG3D M3 4LL OV3R 34ST N3W J4CK! THOUGH W3 D1D CH3CK OUT TH1S N34T R3ST4UR4NT D1D YOU KNOW TH3R3’S 4N 4LT1SH R3ST4UR4NT 1N 34ST N3W J4CK? TH3Y H4V3 PR3TTY GOOD FOOD

TA: let me get thii2 2traiight:

TA: you went on a “bu2iine22 meetiing” wiith vrii2ka that iinvolved doiing thiing2 you hate and then concluded wiith eatiing at a niice re2taurant.

GC: 3X4CTLY WHY 1S TH1S TH4T SO H4RD TO UND3RST4ND?

TA: tz.

TA: that wa2 a hate date.

 

You stare at the text. You pick apart the words, trying to discern the irony of the hidden reasoning behind them. Perhaps there’s a different context you’re missing…or maybe this is a reference to an internet joke? Whatever your brother is doing, you’re not getting it.

 

GC: WH4T

TA: you went on a hate date.

TA: wiith vrii2ka.

GC: WH4T

GC: WH4T?

GC: NO!

TA: ye2.

GC: NO!!

TA: yeeee2.

GC: 1T W4SN’T 4 D4T3! TH4T W4SN’T P4RT OF TH3 PL4N!

TA: what plan?

GC: TH3 PL4N 1N MY H34D! 1T W4S JUST 4 BUS1N3SS TH1NG! NOT 4 QU4DR4NTS TH1NG!

 

Shit, are you blushing? You drop your phone, feeling your face. Your entire skin feels warm and tingly but you have no idea if you’re blushing or not.

You take a deep breath. This is not a big deal. Seriously. It’s not. You try to keep yourself calm. It doesn’t work. Your thoughts go at a mile a minute instead.

Was this Vriska’s plan the entire time? Was that why she was whole weird? If you weren’t so tired, you’d drive to East New Jack and demand what in the hell was Vriska’s plan.

The iHusk vibrates again. You pick it up, returning yourself to the conversation. Conversation now. Worry about Vriska later.

 

TA: tz, have you...

TA: ever been on a date before? or iin a relatiion2hiip?

GC: OF COURS3 H4V3 SOLLUX! 1 H4V3 4 FLUSH 4ND P4L3!

TA: before you got iinvolved wiith kankrii or karkat. diid you ever…date anyone? even for liike, a week?

GC: 1...

GC: 1T’S COMPL1C4T3D

TA: terezii.

GC: WH4T DO YOU W4NT M3 TO S4Y SOLLUX? TH4T 1 W4S 4N UND4T34BL3 LOS3R?

TA: tz, there’2 no rule 2ayiing you have two date 2omeone two be happy or two enjoy hiigh 2chool. all ii know ii2 that you had cru2he2…or ob2e22iion2.

GC: WH4T DO3S *TH4T* M34N?

TA: iit’2 ju2t that you fiixate on people and hope they fiixate back, liike kankrii and karkat. you’ve alway2 had a weiird ob2e22iion wiith the both of them. ii know there were people who had cru2he2 on you, but you were two bu2y…beiing ob2e22ed wiith karkat and then kankrii later on.

GC: SOLLUX WH4T DO3S TH1S M4TT3R? WHO C4R3S 4BOUT WH3TH3R 1 D4T3D OR NOT 1N H1GH SCHOOL? W3’R3 4LL 4DULTS NOW TH4T STUFF 1S 1N TH3 P4ST

TA: what ii’m tryiing two 2ay ii2 that thii2 2iituatiion wiith vrii2ka 2care2 you becau2e you genuiinely feel 2omethiing for her iin a way that’2…you know. adult.

TA: you never had that before. you ju2t jumped iintwo thiing2 wiith kankrii and karkat.

TA: ii thiink the only rea2on iit worked for now out wa2 becau2e kankrii and karkat were ju2t a2 hurt and lonely a2 you were.

 

One word screams out to you.

Lonely.

It’s not true though. No matter how much the word is bolded in your mind, it’s not about you. You’re not lonely. You’ve never been lonely. You’ve always had friends. You always had Vriska and if not her then Aradia, Tavros, and even Kanaya.

You’re not alone.

It’s not like you’re the first blind troll in the world and you’re not the last either. It doesn’t bother you that no one else understands the scent of magenta or the taste of purple on your tongue. The blending of colors, smells, and senses.

It never bothered you that there were no other blind trolls to talk to. Most trolls would rather die than go without a sense, especially an essential like sight. The ones that don’t die have no idea what you’re talking about in relation to color and smell. The few you met think you’re living in a fantasy world, using it to cope with what goes on.

It never bothered you when humans would stop you at school and question how your sight worked. You didn’t shirk when strangers saw the scars on your face. You didn’t cry when you learned there’s no fix-it for your eyes and your optic nerves are dead.

You’re proud of how you look. You’re comfortable with it. You’ve always been that way.  

 

TA: tz?

TA: 2hiit. maybe ii went a biit two pale there.

GC: NO 1’M F1N3

GC: 1’M TH1NK1NG

 

You are not fine. You are not thinking. This is the last thing you want to think about.

 

GC: 1 D1DN’T D4T3 ON PURPOS3 SOLLUX MOST OF TH3 P3OPL3 1N OUR CL4SS W3R3 4SSHOL3S 4ND 1 D1DN’T W4NT TO B3 SOM3ON3’S F3T1SH OR P1TY D4T3 1 JUST W4NT TO DO MY OWN TH1NG 4ND Y34H 1T M1GHT B3 BR4SH BY YOUR ST4ND4RDS BUT 1T’S WORK1NG YOU S41D SO YOURS3LF

TA: ii 2aiid iit’2 workiing for now, terezii.

TA: what about karkat?

GC: SOLLUX TH4T’S YOUR M4T3SPR1T 1 KNOW YOU FLUSH H1M BUT YOU C4N’T B3 POK1NG 1NTO *H1S* QU4DR4NTS L1K3 TH1S

TA: ii know that but you’re al2o *my* 2ii2ter and ii thiink ii’m allowed two have an opiiniion. ii never thought your moiiraiilegiiance wa2 a good iidea and now iit’2 turniing lop2iided.

GC: OH SO NOW YOU’R3 TH3 QU4DR4NTS 3XP3RT?

TA: no. my quadrant2 are a me22 but ii’m an adult about iit. ii accept that they’re goiing two vaciillate and fliip-flop, but at the end of the day, they’re 2tabiiliized.

TA: ii’m not forciing anyone iintwo anythiing and iif iit feel2 wrong…ii let go.

GC: SO YOU G1V3 UP ON TH3M?

TA: no. ii do the adult thiing and ii let them be wiith other people, or iit’ll only make iit wor2e.

GC: GR34T OP1N1ON H34RD BUT 1’M NOT YOU

 

\--gallowsCalibrator[GC] ceased trolling twinArmageddons[TA]!--

 

You drop your iHusk on the ground. Your hands are shaking and you don’t know how to stop it. Irregular tears run down your face, but you know things will be alright. Sollux and you will be awkward for a few weeks but you’ll apologize. Or he’ll apologize. Either way, he is still your brother and you’ll always be close to him.

There is nothing to worry about.


	4. the sonic parking lot in april

Things with Sollux are awkward into the New Year. You watch the ball drop, the fireworks, and see the smile on your adorable son’s face. You randomly start talking to Sollux because who else are you going to talk to? Your mother’s tired most of the time, Karkat is with his own family across the street, Vriska is off parting, and your father is…himself. There’s no one else but you and your brother.

Neither of you apologize for what you said. You just move past it. You still have no idea what’s going with Sollux. You both have moirails and you’re well aware that pale infidelity can be deadly. Trolls have killed over broken moirailegiance than matespritship.

“Are you okay?” Karkat asks.

You look down at Karkat. His head is in his lap and his eyes are half-open. It’s January and rain is pouring outside. Outside his bedroom door, Nessie is wailing and Jade is trying to calm her down.

You look at Karkat and wonder where the small, chubby kid went. Now he’s this giant beast of a mutantblood whose eyes seem like burning embers compared to the rest of his dark skin. It even has a different feel to it—rougher, almost like shark skin.

“I’m fine.” You lie.

Why did you obsess over Karkat when you were younger? There were plenty of other children in Finchester Lakes for you to like. Why Karkat? Was it because he was willing to follow you? But then you didn’t even pursue him. You gave up on him when he didn’t reciprocate your feelings.

You didn’t even tell him about it because the thought alone is embarrassing. It’s pathetic to think about how you were focused on someone and so desperate for _someone_ to like you back.

But that’s in the past now. You’re still friends with him. You’re still taking care of him. He isn’t with you of curiosity, pity, and he won’t toss you into the abyss or hurt you. It doesn’t matter if you keep some things from her. They’re small things that don’t matter anyway. It’s alright.

 

January into April, you are scheming with Vriska. Vriska snoops as much as possible with Hecuba, discerning information from her important phone calls and trying to nonchalantly pry into what’s going on a work. On the other end of the spectrum, you are making calls and getting interviews with the different factory heads—still under the guise of a curious student. You are innocent and inquisitive in a way that will never be truly effective but is less likely to raise eyebrows. After all, DynamiCHEM has been a part of New Jack since its inception. There are plenty of people who are curious about it and maintaining a good relationship with the city’s citizens is what has kept it afloat through the shakier times.

Vriska and you meet all over the city. You even drag her out of East New Jack, hitting the casino bars or the old fast food joints you used to hit during high school. Vriska pays for most things but you manage to squirrel away some money so that you can buy your own food and drinks from time to time. It’s not much but you want to stand your ground with her.

The last week of April, you go to your old favorite again: Sonic. You used to get jacked up on so many slushies after school that you would feel like doing cartwheels through the parking lot. Today is a repeat of such old fashioned misadventures, as you ordering slushiest and terrible food. You sit in the back of the restaurant in a booth, chewing down mozzarella sticks and hot dogs.

“How the hell can you still _eat_ like that?” Vriska asks, “I ate a hot dog after a month and got heart burn.”

“You’re a wuss is why. You’re too used to turkey burgers and tofu dogs.” You snicker.

“I don’t eat _that_ healthy.” Vriska snorts, “Don’t tell me you bring Kempie here all the time.”

You roll your eyes. “No, but I’m sure Kankri does. He _loves_ spoiling that kid.” You shake your head and smile. “Not that I can really blame him. He had such a shitty childhood…I think he wants to prove he can be a good Dad.”

“Who’s he trying to prove that to? I’m sure if you didn’t already believe it, you wouldn’t have had that kid.”

“He’s trying to prove it to his worst critic: himself.” You pluck the cherry off your slushie and chew it, letting sugary syrup burst in your mouth. “Vriska…what are we doing?”

Vriska smirks. “Hanging out while simultaneously fucking over corporate douchebags?”

“Besides that.” you sigh, “I feel like there’s something you want from me, but you don’t want to say it. You’re being…” You let your tongue play with your straw, mulling over the words. “Subtle.”

Vriska smiles but her eyes are on your mouth. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You smile. “It’s what _I’m_ calling it.”

Her smile broadens but immediately disappears. She puts her purse on the table and opens it. “Then I hate to burst your bubble of whatever is _really_ on your mind but I got a mix of good and bad news.”

Vriska reaches across the table. You prepare for what will happen next. That her finger will be on your hand, your lips, and then her mouth yours. That her fangs and claws will come out and she’ll bite you and mark you for herself.

Instead, she puts a key in your hand. It’s rectangular, meant for a specific kind of electronic and traditional lock.

“The back room?” you whisper.

“The suite.” Vriska says, “The back room has a regular old fashioned lock, which means Hecuba either doesn’t trust the power or doesn’t want to be locked in...or out. I tried to get in but Hecuba never opens that office when I’m out.”

“And Hecuba?”

Vriska swallows. “I’m leaving. For the summer. Hecuba and I are going to Nehetaly.”

“Seems abrupt.” You smirk, “Crazy ex?”

Vriska shrugs. “She always leaves New Jack for the summer. I think the only reason we didn’t go before was that she wans’t sure about trusting me. Plus, I got fashion shows to attend.” She smiles. “Need that fashion street cred, I guess.”

You always knew lockpicking would be a possibility. You even made your own using a tutorial from the internet. You had practiced on the doors at home for starters, but this is the real deal now. Still, that’s not the most difficult step. The hardest will be looking for the file and hoping it’s there.

“How do I get past security?” you ask. Your voices have gone to whispers.

Vriska’s eyes narrow. She’s unhappy with whatever conclusion she’s reached.

“Arthat.” She says.

You shake your head. “Vriska--”

“It’s the only way.” Vriska continues. “Security knows Arthat lives there. He’s staying in New Jack and he’s the only way you can get past the guards.”

“Does Arthat why I’ll be there?”

Vriska chuckles. “He doesn’t _care_. I just told him this would make Hecuba angry. Once he knew that, he was all for it.” She looks back at the key. “The key’s a copy made for Arthat.”

You haven’t even met Arthat, or had a conversation with him. You’ve seen him at a distance though, walking to Aranea’s trailer with Vriska or at Serket family functions.

“You _sure_ you want to do this?” you ask, “Once I get the file, Hecuba will suspect you. It might not be safe.”

Vriska smirks. “You’re having reservations _now_? What happened to the gung-ho Pyrope who was all for this?”

You reach across the table, taking Vriska’s hand. Vriska looks at you with her heart pounding. She swallows and stares at you, wondering what the hell you’re doing. You wonder what the hell you’re doing as well.

“The only people who should get hurt are DynamiCHEM. Not you.” You say.

Vriska smiles and shakes her head. You expect her to pull her hand away but she doesn’t.

“Hecuba and I were never meant to last.” She says, “There’s a reason she has so many exes and crazy lovers. She _burns_ through youth like fire and Ninth Ward grass. This trip is the last hurrah. By August, I’ll be in a penthouse on my own.” She shrugs. “I don’t care though. Just as long as Arthat is happy, I’m happy.”

 _But are you happy?_ You want to ask, but there are more important things. Another detail that you can’t overlook.

“This is going to piss off Karkat.” you say, “You know how he feels about his son.”

“You think I care what he thinks?” Vriska pulls her hands away and folds her arms. “He’s not the one that pushed Arthat’s egg out. He’s not the one paying his food bills. He’s more a genetic donor than a real father.”

“That’s not true. He tries very hard.”

“Get off your high horse, Pyrope.” Vriska rolls her eyes. “You think you treat him any better? Did you even _ask_ him if he wanted to give up Khanie for adoption?”

You freeze, almost dropping the key. It feels like an hour ticks by before your brain catches up with your mouth.

“He said it was my body and I could what I wanted.” You say.

“He _always_ says that.” Vriska groans, “Karkat has a heart a mile wide and cares about his family, whether they’re blood relations or not. Of course he wanted Khanie, but he doesn’t rock the boat with either of us. He loves us in the same way he loves everyone.” She swallows. “Doesn’t make him smart though. Especially when it comes to us. Love like that…it paints a big target on your heart too.”

“I…” Another pause. You can’t think and you’re having trouble breathing. You swallow more of your slushie but you can’t even taste the sugar. “When I found out I was having twins…I didn’t know whose kid was whose.”

Vriska blinks and her eyes widen. “What?”

“I…I gave up Khanie because it upset Kankri to give up Kempie. You know what happened to him when he was our age. I…I wanted him to be happy, so I made a decision that way. We couldn’t afford two kids then and Karkat wasn’t working either. There was still a lot of bad blood between Karkat and Kankri and I didn’t want them to fight so I…so I made the choice before anyone could tell me otherwise.”

“So Kankri didn’t know about giving up Khanie either?”

You shake your head. “I made the choice. I just didn’t want there to be a huge fight. I knew that if I did this one selfish thing, that it would be worthwhile. That we could be all be a family even if…even if I abandoned my daughter.”

A cold hand is on your face. Vriska touches your skin, wiping the tears running down your face.

“I’m going to tell you a secret, Pyrope.” Vriska says. Her voice is so low you can hardly hear her over the blare of the TV or the noise of families in the restaurant. “People forget and change the past all the time. There’s no point in raking yourself over the coals for it. What matters is the present and what could be the future.”

“Who…” You sniffle and smile through your tears. “Who gave you that corny line?”

“Grandma Mindfang.” Vriska stands, “Come on, Pyrope. You’re drunk on sugar and I gotta head back home.”

You stand but your legs are shaking. All you can think of is Vriska leaving.

You step outside into the late spring, early summer humidity. The sun has set and the insects are coming out, filing the air with the annoying whine of their wings. Vriska walks across the parking lot, eyes focusing on her feet travelling across the gravel.

“Was it your idea to go to Nehetaly?” you ask.

Vriska stops walking but doesn’t turn around. “Sort of.” she says, “The company’s been talking about a trip for those willing to go and Hecuba wants to get out of the area for a while. I figured it was a good opportunity…so why not take it? What, Pyrope?” The ceruleanblood turns to you, smiling. “You gonna miss the free meals?”

You can’t say a word. You don’t want to talk about Hecuba’s problems or what the company is doing in Nehetaly. You want to dig your claws into Vriska and make sure you leave your mark on her before she leaves. But you can’t do that. Something bone deep and civilized in you won’t let you. Instead, you walk over to her and wrap your arms around her waist. You place your head on her shoulder, shutting your eyes. Vriska stands perfectly still and slowly puts her arms around you.

“Hey, I’m not gone forever.” she says, “Stop acting like I am.”

“I can act however I want.” you whisper.

“You gonna miss me that much?”

“Fuck you.”

You kiss her and its rough and black and everything you have ever wanted. The air is full of insects that are steadily eating you alive, but you don’t care. It was all worth this moment.

Vriska is the first to separate from the kiss but her eyes are hooded with lust and her cheeks tinged cerulean.

“You asshole.” she whispers, “You want to stop playing chicken _now_?”

“I wasn’t paying chicken!” you huff, “I just didn’t know what the hell you wanted.”

Vriska kisses you again but pulls away from your grip. You let her go because you’d have to be as strong as Equius to hold onto a Serket when they want to get away.

“Let’s _go_ already!” Vriska laughs, “I don’t want to be covered in bug bites.”

“You want to go back to Hecuba that badly?” you snort.

Vriska opens the car door and looks at you with a smirk. “I didn’t say we were heading home.”

You have no idea what she’s planning but you’re not in the mood to return home. Not yet. The lust and the night air have filled your veins and lungs. Your inhibitions have lowered without the need of alcohol and you let them latch onto you; ride you like a spirit in a voodoo ceremony.

Vriska drives with the same possessed behavior. She breathes hard and the air in the car becomes stifling and your thoughts liquid yet unmanageable, like old pudding.

Vriska bring you to a motel by the highway. The immigrant who runs it barely speaks English but he doesn’t bother looking you in the eye as you fork over cash and ID. You ignore the smell of perfumed prostitutes and the homeless lingering by the doors. Vriska gets a key and you go to a room with must and bleach thick in the air.

You don’t care though. The sheets are clean and the bed is soft.

This is so stupid.

The worst part about it is that you’re too anxious to just shucking off your clothes. With Kankri you were so eager to climb into bed with him. With Vriska, you’re incredibly nervous. All you can do is hold her and kiss her chapped lips. Vriska bites your shoulder and along your neck.

“I’d ask if you brought a condom, but considering what you do for a living…” you snicker and hope Vriska can’t hear how loud your heart is pounding.

Vriska smirks. “I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

“Bullshit.” You snort, “I’m more than ready.”

“And I say that my time as an escort allows me to read people better than they can read themselves.” Vriska pokes you on the forehead like you’re a little kid that can stay up late. “You’re sweating, Terezi, and not from the heat.”

You move sweat-slicked hair strands out of your face and fix the cerulean with a glare. “Then why’d you bring me here?”

“I didn’t want to make out in a car.” Vriska’s eyes narrow. “I wanted this to be just…us.”

“Just us.” You hold onto her and shut your eyes. You’re close in regards to hemotype temperatures but there’s a few degrees of coolness between you. You question the temperature of Mindfang’s blood, given how she was a pureblood cerulean.

This is so fucking stupid. You came here expecting one last night of close intimacy with Vriska and you can’t even bring yourself to do it. You feel like you’re back in high school again and despite moving out, having a family, and a job you hate…you’re still so young.

And you hate it, but not as much as you hate her.

“What makes you care about things like this?” you whisper, “You fuck people for a living, don’t you? Why do you care if I’m nervous?”

“That’s the funny thing about escorts.” You feel Vriska’s lips curve into a smile as they’re pressed into your neck. “It makes you realize how lonely people are. I think we’re both more lonely than we are horny.”

You sit in silence and don’t know what to say. While you should be sticky and sweaty and satisfying your lust, you’re just sitting in the near silence of the motel room. You can hear others arguing in their rooms and the loud engines of cars speeding up and down the highway.

“Don’t.” you whisper, breaking the silence.

“Don’t what?” Vriska asks.

 

 

“Don’t go.” You say, “Just don’t. Stay here and…” You swallow, shutting your eyes. “Don’t go with her.”

Vriska pulls away from you and sits up. The room is dark and the only hint of her body comes from the parking lot lights filtering through the room’s blind. You can’t tell what’s on her face, whether its annoyance, disappointment, or complacency.

“You know I’m not in a relationship with her. It’s just work.” She says, her voice flat.

You reach out, grasping her hand. “I know it’s work but I don’t want you with her for so long. Without anyone or without me. What if it’s not safe? What if she’s onto you and this is her way of getting rid of you without problems?”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“I’m right to be paranoid. What you do is fucking dangerous, Vriska!”

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between concern and control.” She touches your face, thumb stroking your scars. “I’ll miss you too, but how else are you going to get into that back room? I can’t have Hecuba suddenly returning or have her see you.”

“I may not even do it.” You whisper, “What’s the point? BF&W are going to take most of the money. They’re cheating everyone and I can’t say shit. Maybe…maybe this isn’t worth it. I’m not even helping. Not really.”

“Terezi, don’t dismiss yourself.” Vriska moves closer to you, “You’ve come this far. You’ve held on when others would have quit. You’ll figure something out.”

You don’t know if you can, but having Vriska say she believes in you makes your stomach and skin feel hot and tingly.

“Still, it’s bullshit.” You sigh, “They have tons of money. Why steal it from those who need it?”

“They’re lawyers, Pyrope. Not saints.”

That was true. Your grandmother was far from sainthood. She hunted and killed trolls without a second question and kept her convictions private…but this is different. This is about your family and trying to get your mother the money she’s owned.

This is about you trying to fix the only thing you _can_ fix about your family’s misery.

“You’ll be so far.” You whisper.

“Yeah, but that’s what I do.” Vriska sits up. “Come on. The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be.”

It’s true but you don’t move quickly. You rearrange your clothes so they look normal and leave the motel with her, hoping the smell of the place doesn’t linger on you. She drops you off at your trailer and you drift back inside, not sure what this could mean and feel like you’re floating.

Kankri is sitting on the couch, with Kempie’s head in his lap. He’s watching a movie and Kempie has fallen asleep, curled and clinging to his lap.

“Where have you been?” Kankri whispers.

“Lost track of time…I just…” You don’t know what to say. Your mind is in a fog. You can’t think right now.  

Kankri smells irritated and concerned but you’re beyond being worried about it. “Kempie was asking for you.” your matesprit sighs, “I know you’re busy these days but I don’t ask for much for you to be there for our son.”

“I know. It’ll be different. I promise.” You say.

You have no idea if it’ll be different. It should be easier given how the next month, Vriska will be in Nehetaly with her lover and you will remain in New Jack, as you always will.

You pick up your son and put him in his sopor-proof pajamas. You place him in the recuperacoon and watch him chew his fingers in his sleep. You kiss him on his forehead, sensing his intense body heat.

You should be concerned with your son. Not with Vriska. There’s no point in being so wired for something that isn’t compatible for your lifestyles.

Everything is perfect the way it is now.


End file.
